Machetes on a Plane
by Stylin' Breeze
Summary: "It's a coconut," Terushima replied to the flight attendant. "I declared it at customs." When the person pointed out the machete in his hands: "How else am I supposed to open it?" And Other Stories...


**Inspired by a true story and the Twitter reaction that followed**

* * *

Yuuji Terushima had a wonderful vacation. Getting away to a tropical destination was fun in itself, with enjoying the island coconuts the most succulent pleasure. He'd even snagged one for the trip home but was dying to savor the luscious interior inside the hard shell even as his plane was hours from touching down in Japan.

But he came prepared.

The passenger in the seat beside Yuuji was perplexed when the teenage boy withdrew the hairy round husk and laid it on the tray attached to the seatback in front of him. Yuuji licked his lips. He then maneuvered into the aisle, reached into the overhead luggage bin, took down his suitcase, and placed it on the seat. To the aghast reaction of the person beside him, Yuuji nonchalantly removed a machete and placed it beside the coconut. He returned his suitcase to the overhead compartment and sat back down.

A flight attendant collecting drink orders jolted upon seeing Yuuji ready to cut open the hard shell with the large knife.

"Sir!" The steward yelled, with such complete disbelief he thought he was seeing things. "What is that?!"

"A coconut," Terushima replied. "I declared it at customs."

"I mean the thing in your hand!"

Yuuji gave the flight attendant a judgmental look. "How else am I supposed to open it?"

* * *

_\- [I cannot actually envision Kita smuggling a machete onto a plane for any reason whatsoever, but setting that aside…] -_

Shinsuke Kita was having a good trip, beginning from getting his favorite seat in the very back of the plane. The back row was awesome because most people didn't want it, so if the plane wasn't full, he usually obtained a measure of privacy and peace. If he was lucky, he could store luggage under the seat next to him instead of in the overhead bin too. He was also next to the bathroom and therefore didn't have to mad dash down the aisle whenever the lavatory became unoccupied in order to beat somebody else to it.

On that note, nature was calling, and so when the restroom became open, Kita casually slid out of his empty row and into the small compartment behind him.

He did his business and dutifully washed his hands in the sink far too small for human use. Everything about airplane lavatories was too small for human _anything_, never mind the paper towels that instantly became soaked upon contact with liquid. Kita ensured his hands were perfectly dry before pressing against the metal lid that denoted the also-too-small trash can.

But the lid wouldn't budge. On the long flight, passenger upon passenger had loaded the tiny bin with paper towels that had accrued and gotten jammed behind the lid. Kita tried a few times to force his wad of waste inside to no avail. He wasn't the type to lazily insert it halfway or violate the signs warning against flushing the towels down the toilet. No, he had to do this right, and so he left his waste by the sink and scuttled to his bag under the seat.

Quickly rummaging in his carryon, he withdrew the machete he brought onboard for just this purpose and, cutting off a frightened passenger en route to the restroom, bowed with the weapon and slipped back into the lavatory. He proceeded to jab the knife into the waste bin, mauling the discarded towels until the trash can's contents were reduced to confetti. He then easily slipped his wad of paper in and proudly exited.

Facing him with a vicious glare was an undercover airline security officer. Kita realized instantly the man was concerned about the blade in his hand.

"Don't worry. I'm done with this now. I'll put it away," Shinsuke said.

* * *

The Miya twins were among the last people to board their flight. Squeezing down the center aisle, Atsumu with a solid rolling suitcase had the embarrassment of watching his brother Osamu, wearing a backpack, ahead of him lugging an ugly purple mesh laundry bag that barely fit the carryon size limits. His twin hated waiting at baggage carousels and did everything in his power to not check luggage. Reaching their row, Samu stuffed the bag into the overhead bin in the last available space. Atsumu cast around for a spot for his suitcase but couldn't see any openings. He thus tried shoving the item into the nonexistent vacuum next to his brother's used laundry.

With Atsumu making absolutely no headway in the overhead bin, a flight attendant appeared.

"I'm afraid we will need to check your bag in the cargo hold," the stewardess said.

"It'll fit," Tsumu stubbornly said without making eye contact, continuing to try.

"Sir," the flight attendant urged, "we are all full in the overheads."

Tsumu irately pulled his bag out and glared. "I brought this bag as a _carryon_, and I'm gonna _keep_ it as a carryon!"

Osamu nonchalantly watched his brother open up his suitcase and then remove the machete that he never knew why his sibling smuggled onto flights. Then, to everyone's shock including Samu's, Atsumu began to stab the mesh bag with the weapon. Shredded clothes regurgitated with each jab as passengers and crew shrieked in horror. Once the bag was sufficiently mutilated, Atsumu picked up his carryon and shoved it into the newly created space. Tsumu slid his weapon into the top pouch of his suitcase and then slammed the overhead bin shut.

"There! It fits!" he angrily yelled. "Happy?!"

The flight attendant gawked in shock.

Osamu glared. "You owe me a new wardrobe."

* * *

"I'm afraid we don't have chicken strips," the flight attendant said to Tendou, "but we have our boneless wings."

"Can you cut the wings into strips?" Satori Tendou asked.

"I'm afraid not."

"Why?"

"Because we don't serve them like that."

"Can't you use a knife?"

"I can give you a knife. Would that work?"

Tendou gaped at the man taking his food order who refused to understand that Satori didn't eat chicken in any other form than long, thin strips and finally pouted. "OK."

What seemed like half a day later, his meal arrived. Tendou beheld the solid piece of lightly breaded chicken in the meal tray with a twitching eye. Beside the tray was a plastic knife and fork. He pronged the chicken wing with the fork and began to cut into it with the knife.

Except, the chicken didn't give.

He sawed harder, but the more forcefully he pressed and the more rapidly he gyrated the plastic blade, the more the rubbery meat flattened under the pressure of the knife instead of splitting.

"Pardon me," he said to the person beside him before placing his meal box on the person's seatback tray without waiting for permission. He bent over to get his carryon under the seat; and then, to frightened gasps, he produced a nicely sharpened machete. "Thank you," he said, taking his box back. And then, with careful, slick chops, he lowered the blade on the uncooperative meat and cleanly sliced the chicken into uniform strips. All around him, flight attendant call buttons dinged melodically.

"Sir! What _are_ you doing?!" bellowed a steward rushing to the scene.

Tendou had set the machete aside and taken his first bite of the now tolerable strips. Seeing the flight attendant, he offered the hilt of the weapon for the steward to take.

"Here. Now you can meet everyone else's request for strips."

* * *

Today was a horrible day.

Koutarou Bokuto was dumb to spend an extra day on vacation. It wasn't wise to arrive back in town the same day he had practice, but how was he supposed to know the plane would be four hours late? As they taxied, his legs trembling, backpack in his lap, he continually checked his phone, watching the minutes tick by. He had very little chance of making it to practice on time. Nor did it help that to save money he'd purchased his seat way back in economy class near the rear of the aircraft. The front of the plane naturally got off first, and he'd have to wait for some 150 passengers to each get their stuff together before he himself could leave.

Unloading should be based off who was _ready_ to get off first, he pouted. Actually, no, it should be based off who _needed_ to get off first.

After the plane at last parked and the gate ramp slothfully hooked up, Bokuto realized that with how long it would take to get off the aircraft, he now officially had no chance of making it to practice on time.

Unless…

He rummaged in his backpack.

The moment the pilot announced they could debark, Bokuto shot into the middle of the aisle, clasping the backpack to his chest, frightening everyone with the machete brandished in his hand with a stunning glint.

"I am going to be the _first person off this plane_!"

Perhaps needless to say, by virtue of being met by law enforcement once he entered the terminal, Bokuto did not make it to practice on time.

* * *

I found the original Twitter post that inspired this and linked it on AO3


End file.
